The Boy in the Shadows
by IsThisLove394
Summary: "Draco's heart pounded more than ever before. He had to believe what he had just done was right. He had to believe that. So he didn't let himself question it, not once. " - A one-shot during The Battle of Hogwarts about Draco Malfoy and the boy who set him free.


**I would like very much to dedicate this one-shot to my amazing Beta ThisLoveHasNoCeiling to whom I apologise profusely for misleading use of the word 'cheeky'**

**This idea just popped into my head one evening and I had to get it down. It's from Draco's point of view during The Battle of Hogwarts. I've kept it very faithful to Rowling's universe and I really hope you like it.**

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The Final Battle.

The Battle of Hogwarts.

The End.

The Victory.

Or the Defeat.

Whatever way he tried to describe it in his head, it was wrong. It was all wrong. And he hated it.

All Draco Malfoy wanted to do at that moment was hide, and perhaps hack off his left arm whilst he was at it.

He hadn't wanted it to be like this. It had taken him a long time to realise… seven years to be precise. But the high ceilings, grand chandeliers and perfectly polished marble of Malfoy Manor was not his home. It had never been his home.

This was home. And it was slowly and surely cracking, smashing, crumbling and burning to the ground. The castle of Hogwarts, his home, was being destroyed. Every sight he saw, every sound he heard opened his eyes to the horror and evil of lord Voldemort. He was disgusted with what he had been helping to do, what he had done. He hated it.

As he ran though the castle's ancient corridors he screamed apologies in his head. With every painful pound of foot on stone, the guilt grew.

He heard screaming.

Another smash.

Another flash of green light.

Green light.

Green.

It had been the colour of grass as a toddler. When he was nine, it was the colour of his bedroom walls. It had been the colour of Slytherin house in his first year. Then it was colour of Harry Potter's eyes. Slowly it became the colour of jealously. In his second year it was the colour of his Quidditch robes. Then it became the colour of the Dark Mark. Now it was the colour of death.

There was a whimper.

A scuttle of feet.

A flash of sandy hair.

Draco didn't know what his feet were doing anymore. He came to a stop, almost falling over as he did so. He squinted through the rubble as he crept towards the doorway of what used to be a neatly kept transfiguration classroom. Dust hung thick in the air, making it difficult to see.

But he could just about make out the outline. A silhouette in the shadows.

Again Draco's feet made the decision for him. He stepped inside, his feet crunching over the rubble and stone. The faint sound of breathing stopped suddenly. Whoever the silhouette belonged to didn't want to be discovered.

Draco sat down gingerly. There was blood through his hair, on his face and in his mouth. Whoever lurked in the shadows had got it all wrong- he wasn't there to fight.

He lowered his wand and closed his eyes. He didn't even care if they killed him first. He'd had enough. Voldemort had twisted him and manipulated him. He had stretched and pulled his soul. He had torn apart at his family with his long, bony fingers, and now it was over.

Whatever would happen, it was over. Draco couldn't be saved.

He didn't deserve saving, he thought bitterly.

He had crossed the mark, passed the line, gone too deep, and if he was being honest all he wanted to do at that moment was sleep somehow and never ever wake up.

'Who- who's there?'

A timid voice sliced the silence. Like a blade it cut though the heavy air and made Draco flinch.

'Who is that?'

It demanded. The voice was trying to sound braver than it felt. Draco knew that feeling well enough by now.

'Don't kill me.' Draco croaked back as an answer. He didn't know why he had said it. His own quiet voice surprised him. He was begging. He had given in.

'No…' It answered, it was breathing heavily. It was scared. Draco recognised the voice from somewhere. 'No, I'm not going to kill you.'

Draco looked up curiously but all he saw was shadow '…Thank you.'

The simple, almost civil exchange stunned him. It seemed ridiculous given the situation they were in. The little, calm conversation was out of place in the battle.

It was eerily quiet in the old classroom compared to the fighting and the screaming that seemed to seep through every crack of the castle. It was as if the pair in the room had found a little pocket of sanity, yet it was insanity at the same time.

They were just two people, taking shelter as a storm raged outside.

'I'm scared.' The voice said suddenly. It was shaking.

The statement was simple, pure and very honest. It was a boy's voice. To anyone else it would have sounded silly but Draco knew the intention. He wanted to voice his thoughts, to have somebody know the truth of how he was feeling. Draco understood this. The shadow wanted somebody to understand him. He needed to share himself. He wanted to have an impact if he was going to die. He _needed_ to have an impact if his death was going to mean something. Draco understood him.

'Yeah.' He answered, not without kindness. '…me, too. Terrified.'

'I love this castle.' The boy responded quickly. He was clinging onto their conversation as if in constant fear of being left alone again.

'Me too' Draco repeated absentmindedly.

'But we can't stay here forever.' The voice told him sadly.

He was starting to get annoying now. 'No… we can't.'

The silence grew thicker and Draco enjoyed it for a moment. 'I haven't killed anyone.' The voice blurted as if he needed to say it. 'I haven't done anything. If I…'

There was silence again. Draco listened properly now.

'…If I die, I want to have made a difference. I want… to go down fighting.'

Silence again. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched a minuscule amount. 'You sound like a Gryffindor.' He had meant for it to sound like a simple statement, perhaps with a little sarcasm but, inexplicably, his tone sounded almost fond, and Draco wondered if that was how he was in fact feeling towards the boy in the shadows.

'I am.' It told him.

Silence again. It was broken by the sound of spells being shouted, running footsteps and screaming.

Never ending screaming.

'I never liked this classroom.' Draco whispered to the floor, for some reason wanting the boy to know that.

'I do.' Breathed back the voice '…I want to be a Healer.' It added with thought.

The use of present tense surprised Draco a little bit. The hope from the boy in the shadow both unnerved him and gave him comfort.

'I'm sure you'll make a good one.' The words had left his mouth before he'd thought about it. The boy in the shadows wanted Draco to know so much about him. Draco owed him a kind word of comfort in return.

If he was being honest, Draco didn't think either of them were going to live through the night, but he didn't _want_ to believe that. He didn't want to be himself anymore. He wanted to step into a new personality. Become a good person, a pure person, somebody who still had hope; even in the face of the horror they were in.

He wanted to be the boy in the shadows.

'How can you say that? You don't know me.' The boy asked him, seemingly annoyed at the meaningless word of comfort.

Draco appreciated the response. In fact, he was sure that he would have said the same. He thought a little before he answered. 'Well …you haven't killed anyone.' He explained.

They both laughed then stopped immediately. Their little conversation was strange enough. But laughter was too far. However, the second of it that they shared; seemed to shed some light and remind them that they were not the only humans left in the world.

Suddenly everything became a little bit more real.

And it was a little bit more horrible.

But now it made sense, because it didn't feel like a dream anymore.

And they both felt ready now.

'Well, we can't stay here forever.' Draco whispered, repeating what the boy had told him moments before.

'No, we can't stay here forever.' He breathed back, in a tone that suggested staying forever seemed very appealing.

Draco stood up, his heart pounding mercilessly. As he crept back through the doorway and into danger and real life once more, the voice whispered something after him. It was so quiet, Draco could have easily imagined it, but he was sure the boy in the shadows had whispered his name.

'Colin'

Draco ran as fast as he could.

It was exactly one hour later that Draco met a group of three Death Eaters while still running. Running was all he seemed to be able to do. It was Avery, Greyback and Dolohov.

They weren't even bothering with masks now. The sight of them made his stomach lurch. They were all headed in the same direction.

He was about to run off in a different one when he heard them talking about a boy.

A boy who had used expelliarmus on them and let their group of victims they had gathered; escape unharmed.

A 'small' boy with 'light brown' hair.

He heard of their plans for him.

They spoke with some kind of sick passion about using the cruciatus curse repeatedly before eventual death.

They called him 'Mudblood.'

Then the reality hit him. They could be talking about… they could be chasing…

Draco didn't even think as he ran to catch up with them.

'He ran down there!' One of the three told him, obviously thinking Draco had joined the hunt.

Draco nodded. He was going to be sick. The corridor they were hurtling down lead to a dead end. So he ran.

He ran as fast as he could.

He ran faster than he ever had before.

Soon he overtook all three Death Eaters, and rounded the corner. He spotted Colin standing helplessly at the end of the corridor as he hurtled towards him.

'Put down your wand!' Draco gasped as he reached him.

It was obvious Colin recognised his voice. His mouth opened a fraction in surprise.

Draco took hold of each of his arms, barely believing how horrible the thing he was about to do was. He pulled a stunned Colin towards him and whispered in his ear.

'You didn't have to kill anyone, Colin. You saved them. You made a difference.'

Draco could hear the other three coming towards them quickly from around the corner.

'They got away?' Colin breathed, awestruck.

'You saved them.' Draco repeated. He lifted his wand swiftly to the back of Colin's neck and he pulled him into a one armed hug. 'You went down fighting.' He lowered his voice even further as he felt himself run out of time. He could hear the others approaching.

'What are you doing?' Colin asked urgently, sounding hurt. Suddenly he was trying to pull away.

Draco took a huge, rattling breath. 'You went down fighting - _avada kedavra!_'

Green.

Colin went limp in Draco's arms and he lowered him to the floor swiftly and gently.

'WHAT DID YOU DO?' Dolohov bellowed from behind him.

Draco turned around and put on his invisible Death Eater mask. The personality he had perfected so well he had once believed it to be himself.

'I got the filthy Mudblood first, didn't I?' He spat.

They shot him angry looks then turned around and left, leaving Draco and Colin alone.

Draco's heart pounded more than ever before. He had to believe what he had just done was right. He had to believe that. So he didn't let himself question it, not once.

Using his long, pale fingertips, he gently closed Colin's eyes.

They were alone again. For the second time in the horrific battle, the two of them had found a little pocket of private calm.

Draco watched as the boy lost his youth. It was now easy to believe that they were just a year apart. Equals. He wasn't the irritating little rat with the camera. He was the handsome seventeen year old hero.

The Gryffindor colours glinted on his chest and they suited him perfectly.

The transformation shocked Malfoy as he stood slowly. His hands were shaking. What had he done?

He didn't answer. He wouldn't let himself question it.

The castle had gone truly silent now.

'You saved them, Colin.' His voice trembled more than his hands as he barely whispered to the motionless body beneath him. To his surprise, a large painful lump appeared in his throat.

'And I saved you.' He told him. He wanted to make sure Colin knew that. He wanted more than_ anything_ for him to be able to know that.

His eyes began to sting as they became hot and wet. The lump grew. 'Which means…' He continued as if just realising it himself '…I'm worth saving, doesn't it?' His voice broke and he stopped talking.

And suddenly it didn't matter that the walls were caving in.

Draco was free.

The war would be over exactly three hours from that moment and Draco Malfoy would never speak a single word about Colin Creevey, the boy in the shadows, again. Not a word for the rest of his life.

But he thought about him sometimes. Like on the day he got married, or the day his son was born or the day he qualified as a Healer.

His wife once asked him why he chose the profession.

He said that he'd always felt as if he owed St Mungo's one.

A good one.

THE END

**Thank you so much for reading! And please leave a review if you can, they always make me smile.**


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